


A Kiss... As a Lie

by thedarlingone (Curuchamion)



Series: Gift Fics and Yuletides [16]
Category: Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Truth or Dare, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curuchamion/pseuds/thedarlingone
Summary: Mirax's evil grin gets eviller. "Make out with Hobbie. For one minute."(From a Tumblr prompt: "Write me a kiss... as a lie")





	A Kiss... As a Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [camshaft22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/camshaft22/gifts).



> Betaed by Mayhem21 and tigerkat24, written to a Tumblr prompt from Camshaft22.

"Blergh!" Mirax gives Wes a baleful look, then eyes the glass suspiciously. 

"You saw everything that went in there, Terrik," Wes says cheerfully, hopping up on the breakfast bar and swinging his feet. "Drink up."

"Should have picked Truth," Hobbie says dourly from the sofa arm where he's half-perched, half-sprawling. "I always pick Truth. Wes is too good at dares."

"They already _know_ all your deep dark secrets," Mirax points out. This is true. The four of them only met at the beginning of the year, when they were assigned the same shared dorm suite at college -- individual bedrooms, common kitchen and sitting room, tasteful furnishings, really a very nice place altogether -- but it seems like they've known each other forever.

"And I know all of _your_ deep dark secrets, little sis," Wedge says. He's actually sitting on the sofa seat proper. Sitting, not lounging, not sprawling. Wedge is an unreasonably tidy person, but he's not an asshole about it, which is why nobody has murdered him yet.

Mirax smirks at him. "Exactly. I'm not giving you a chance to ask me anything you know will be embarrassing."

"If you don't do the dare you have to switch to Truth," Wes points out, jumping off the breakfast bar. He lands lightly and puts his hands on his hips. "Down the hatch, Terrik."

Mirax glares at him for a few long seconds, then gives the glass a measuring look -- there's not really that much there, a couple of inches of liquid, but it's a disgusting mix of hot sauce, creamer, black pepper, V-8 juice, and a few other things. Wes prides himself on his touch at mixing non-toxic but horrifying concoctions for Hobbie to dare people to drink.

"Fuck you, Janson," Mirax says, then raises the glass and slams the whole thing like a shot.

Wes stares, honestly impressed. Mirax doubles over, coughing and gagging like she's going to puke, but she doesn't actually throw up. That was… a lot more spectacularly badass than he'd expected. Not just from Mirax, from anyone confronted with that particular drink. He tasted it, like he tastes all his Truth or Dare inventions; he _knows_ just how abhorrent it was.

"If you barf it doesn't count," Hobbie says solemnly. Mirax is still leaning over, one hand propped on her knee, trying to catch her breath, but she flips him off without even looking up.

"It counts," Wes says. He's not here to actually injure anybody, and Mirax has just proved she's entirely stubborn enough to keep drinking the worst concoctions he can put together until she can keep one down or gets taken to the hospital with dehydration. She still hasn't puked, though; he suspects the worst is over. "Whose turn was it?"

"Yours," Tycho chirps, looking entirely too pleased with the entire situation. Tycho's lounging sideways in one of the overstuffed armchairs, looking as elegant as ever in a debauched aristocratic sort of way.

" _Dibs_ ," Mirax barks in a voice that's more like a cough.

Wedge nods. "That's fair."

Wes glances around the room, seeing Tycho and Hobbie nod too. It is fair. He's had his fun, he'll take his punishment. "You want some water before you wreak your dire revenge on me?" he asks cheerfully. Mirax nods.

Once Mirax has sort of put herself back together and found her proper voice again, she gives Wes an incredibly evil grin. "You ready, Janson?"

Wes nods. He's had a little time to think. "Dare." He suspects she's got plans for either choice, but he'd rather do almost anything than answer some of the questions she could ask.

If anything, the evil grin gets eviller. "Make out with Hobbie."

Wedge and Tycho make approving little _ooh_ noises. "For how long?" Wedge asks. "Thirty seconds?"

Mirax considers it, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "One minute."

"That's not fair," Wes protests. "Hobbie didn't pick dare."

"No, it's okay, go ahead," Hobbie says -- the traitor. Wes is going to put a fucking Furby in the man's bed some night, see if he doesn't.

Wes sighs, pulls his phone out of his pocket, brings up the timer function, and sets it for one minute, then tosses it to Wedge. "Referee?"

"Umpire? Judge? Coach?" Tycho offers, sounding entirely too pleased with all this.

Wes just rolls his eyes. "Three of ten from the Brazilian judge over there, clearly."

"Get on with it, Janson," Mirax says, her eyes dancing. "If you don't do the dare--"

"--I'll have to switch to Truth," Wes says, talking along with Mirax as she finishes the line. "I know. Give me a second." He stretches his arms over his head and makes a horrible face, pretending to limber up, trying to cover his nervousness as he braces himself. Nobody's supposed to know about his crush on Hobbie. It's his own little secret. He's been firmly squashing all his fantasies for most of the year, not wanting to betray himself with a stray noise in the shower or a too-obvious look. And now he's going to have to make out with his crush, for a whole minute, in front of all his friends, and pretend it's just a joke.

Fine. He can do this. Live for the moment, right? If he's going to make out with Hobbie, especially with his friends fucking _rating his performance_ \-- which admittedly is partly his fault, running his big mouth, but one of them probably would have had the idea anyway -- he's damn well going to commit to it.

He turns to Hobbie. "You know I'm gonna pop a boner," he says casually, with one of those little half-smirks he's so good at. He'd better be, he practices them in the mirror. "Nothing personal." That part's such a lie, it's _entirely_ personal, but nobody can get too serious about anything he says with that smirk. Nobody ever has, anyway.

"No hard feelings," Hobbie says, absolutely innocent-faced, and damn the man, Wes has it _so_ bad. How can Hobbie say things like that without even a twinkle in his eyes? Wes cultivates the smirk half to cover up the fact that he's always within a hair's breadth of cracking up when he says something outrageous. Hobbie's a master of the craft, and it makes Wes want to rip all his clothes off and pin him against a wall even more than usual.

Fuck this, it's now or never. Wes crosses the room to Hobbie in two quick strides, grabs his shoulders, momentarily thankful he's still seated so Wes can _reach_ , and goes for it. The kiss starts out rough and aggressive, a frantic edge of adrenaline threading through it as Wes tries to overcome his nerves. But Hobbie's mouth is eager, responsive, and if this is the only time he ever gets to do this -- knowing it means nothing, knowing he has to laugh it off afterwards -- then damn it, he's going to get every bit of enjoyment out of it he can. He shifts one hand to the back of Hobbie's head, threading his fingers through Hobbie's short fine hair, and deepens and slows the kiss. Hobbie responds in kind. Wes begins to relax a little, his momentary panic fading. At least Hobbie is playing along, not just sitting there woodenly or acting obviously repulsed by what they're doing. At least he can pretend.

One of Hobbie's hands settles on Wes's hip; his other arm shifts where Wes is still gripping his shoulder. Hobbie reaches up, inside the crook of Wes's elbow, and gently lays the blunt hook of his prosthetic hand alongside Wes's jaw as if cupping his face. It's an oddly tender gesture, and Wes damn near flinches, because he so badly wants this to be real. How long has it been? Twenty seconds? Thirty? He has the rest of the minute Mirax gave him, and then this is over. He slows his movements more as if that will make the time last longer. 

Then Hobbie slides his hand up, under the edge of Wes's t-shirt, finding bare skin. Wes gasps -- _fuck, no, Hobbs, please don't do this to me_ \-- but he doesn't stop. As achingly as he wishes this were real, as much as he's going to hate himself later tonight when he's remembering that touch and trying to keep Hobbie's name off his lips, he's a stubborn bastard, and he is going to win this damn dare if it kills him. 

Hobbie's prosthetic hand trails down from Wes's jaw, coming to rest near his collarbone. Damn the man, are they playing chicken now? Well, two can play at that game. Letting go of Hobbie's shoulder, he slides his arm around Hobbie's back, pulling him possessively closer. He really wants to reach down and grab Hobbie's ass, but that might be a step too far. On the other hand, he's making out with his best friend and secret crush on a fucking _dare_ , who the hell even knows where "too far" lies anymore? 

Before Wes can reach down, though, the timer goes off, loud and shrill. He jerks away, startled, breaking the kiss, and immediately regrets it, knowing he can't go back in for another, can't spin the experience out for another second or two.

Hobbie looks up at Wes, blue eyes blown wide and dark. He shifts on the sofa arm, trying to discreetly adjust himself, without much success. "Nothing personal," Hobbie says, his voice aiming for light but coming out strained and a little distracted. 

Wes forces himself not to look down at Hobbie's crotch. Instead, he grins, deliberately cheeky, thankful for the callback. "No hard feelings," he says, and throws in a broad wink because he can.

There's applause behind him. Wes turns around. Mirax and Wedge are clapping; Tycho, grinning lazily, joins them.

"Ten out of ten," Mirax says, grinning. "You really committed. The debt is paid."

"It damn well better be," Wes says easily. His hard-on aches in his pants, but he doesn't have any good way to cover himself without drawing attention to the fact. "A dare for a dare, Terrik. No partial credit."

Mirax laughs. "Can you imagine? You'd wind up creating mini-dares, an eighth or a sixteenth, trying to make it come out even."

"Guilty as charged," Wes admits. Numbers are fun, and fractional dares sound like even more fun. "What about truths, though?"

From behind him, Hobbie drawls, "Haven't you ever heard of a half-truth?"

******

 _Later that night_.

Wes is almost asleep when he hears a soft double-tap at his bedroom door. Confused, he rolls out of bed. He doesn't bother finding pants -- they've all seen each other naked before, and Mirax has gone home, unless she's back for some reason, but why she'd be knocking on his door he doesn't know. He flips the light on and opens the door.

Hobbie is standing there, shirtless, wearing the stupid Minions sleep pants Wes bought him. He's got his arms folded awkwardly across his chest. "Um," he says.

Wes blinks a couple of times, no more enlightened than he was. "Hey," he says for lack of anything else to say.

"Um," Hobbie says again. "So, uh. With… what happened earlier. I, uh. I just. Wanted to say. That, um." He's shifting his weight back and forth, live foot to prosthetic foot and back again, nervous as hell. "That, uh, if you. If you wanted. We might, uh, it could." He looks away, inspecting the doorjamb as if it holds the secrets of the universe. "It could, uh, happen again. But only if you want! I don't want to -- oh god, I shouldn't have come, I'm sorry, please just forget this ever happened--" He takes a step back, starts turning away.

Wes steps forward and grabs his elbow. Hobbie turns back to look at him, his face and chest now flushed bright red with embarrassment. 

"Hobbs," Wes says, ignoring the way his heart is suddenly pounding in his ears. "Are you trying to tell me to kiss you again?"

Hobbie blushes even redder, if that were possible, but he nods a little, looking miserable. "Only if you wa--"

Wes tackles him against the wall and kisses him.


End file.
